


A Younger Son

by festlich



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Possibly more chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 07:16:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/festlich/pseuds/festlich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor jogged down the path and turned to smile, nimble feet kicking up dust clouds, dying sunlight and distant, early torches outlining him in a blazing silhouette; truly he was a god, Loki’s brother. And in this moment he did not feel the familiar stirrings of jealousy in his gut, but something different, though still felt low in the pit of his stomach; it was hot and alive and not something he wanted to think about over much until he was safely behind the golden doors of his chambers later that evening.</p>
<p>He shook his head, as if by doing so he could dislodge his troublesome thoughts, and flitted down the road after his brother; a sparrow chasing an eagle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Younger Son

The value of a younger son has always been considered lesser when measured to that of his elders; Loki was second, where Thor would always be the first. He knew how it was that children were conceived and he surmised that even nature must be against him. After all, it had seen fit that Thor precede him, in birth and in all other things.

The gilt of Loki’s faun horned helm was dimmed by the shade of his tree, his willowy limbs mimicking the swaying branches around him as he sulked in self inflicted solitude. Loki was rather good at sulking, perhaps, he thought, that he should also be known as the god of self pity along side that of mischief and pranks. He was in a particularly foul disposition this perfectly sunny, wretched afternoon.

Was it so bad? He thought to himself.

He reached for a spindly branch, fingers touching on a tickle of leaves before curling around the slender stalk; he looked to his brother, burnished hair glinting in the sunlight where he wrestled Volstaag into the good red dirt of the sparring circle while Lady Sif, Hogun and Fandral watched from a distance, voices raised in good hearted cheer.

Thor was the epitome of an Asgardian youth; fit and solid, young muscles quivering with tension as he fought valiantly for the upper hand, handsome face already starting to stubble where Loki’s remained beardless and smooth.

His blue eyes were alight with vibrancy and life, whether it be in a circle of friends, sharing some joke or alone with Loki; the latter cautiously showing the former a spell he had mastered or a recently acquired artifact that had taken some time and effort to procure.

It was those moments, private and invaluable to Loki, that made bearing his overbearing brother… well bearable.

———

He was pondering the Midgardian’s grammatical term onomanopoeia and how it might apply to Asgardian grammar practice when there was a startling tug on his left boot, making him rock dangerously in his perch at the apex of two thick branches.

“Thor!” he all but squealed.

Thor’s laughter was rich and jovial, his skin shon with sweat and the smell of it was like freshly sheared copper and upturned earth.

“Pay more attention you moon calf,” he slapped Loki’s thigh affectionately and immediately after righting himself, Loki noticed his brother was without his four shadows.

“Where have your friends gone?”

“They are your friends too, Loki, and they have retired to the feast hall. I came to gather you, come, I hunger.”

Thor took a step back so Loki could slip from his perch, only teetering a little after so long stationary “You always hunger Thor,” Loki slapped his palm against his breeches to remove the clinging ferns and moss tendrils and held in a private smile; Thor had come for him, searched him out or—or perhaps kept tabs on him since he had wandered off in a fit of petty temper.

“Aye, come then!” Thor jogged down the path and turned to smile, nimble feet kicking up dust clouds, dying sunlight and distant, early torches outlining him in a blazing silhouette; truly he was a god, Loki’s brother. And in this moment he did not feel the familiar stirrings of jealousy in his gut, but something different, though still felt low in the pit of his stomach; it was hot and alive and not something he wanted to think about over much until he was safely behind the golden doors of his chambers later that evening.

He shook his head, as if by doing so he could dislodge his troublesome thoughts, and flitted down the road after his brother; a sparrow chasing an eagle.

———

The heavy sound of his door locks’ tumblers falling into place was like the pressurized release of a steam valve; Loki slumped to the floor, cool marble blessed on his sweaty, too-hot skin.

Hastily he stripped off his tunic, dislodging his helm in the process and winced as it clattered sharply to the ground. He peeled off his breeches, hopping on one foot towards his bed before kicking the clinging fabric off his ankle and collapsing on his back.

He folded his fingers over his empty stomach and closed his eyes to think.

He had been too inward focused to do more than pick at the succulent feast mounted in fantastical displays in the Grand Hall; suckling pigs roasted above still sizzling coal pits, ripe sugar fruits flecked with gold leaf and silver platters heaping with cured meats and cheeses; and of course, more mead than any Aesir might be able to drink that eve.

He had felt his mother’s eyes on him, calm blue like the never ending expanse of sea from the view of the Bifrost but not so knowing as Heimdall’s; Loki had nothing to fear. Odin had been in a particularly magnanimous mood, listening complacently while Thor explained animatedly some new maneuver he had attempted and succeeded in using during his earlier sparring match with Volstaag, a small smile pulling at the corners of the All-Father’s mouth.

He had not eaten because it felt as though his stomach was already full to bursting, a strange and alien pressure that compressed down into his pelvis and made his temperature rise. It became so intense that he had to excuse himself, pushing away from the table with his family’s eyes trained on his back.

His fingers had unwittingly slid down his stomach to lightly touch on his arousal, heat and smooth, velvet soft skin that felt strange but good.

He knew what an erection was; erectile tissue stimulated by blood flow brought on by the chemicals norepinephrine and—A hot wave of dopamine pulses through his body, making his skinny thighs quiver inwards until his knees touch, pushing an airy noise from between his chapped lips.

It was not a complicated science, the question was, why had Thor made him thus?

He slid the pad of his index finger down the underside of his cock, stomach twitching with unsteady breath as a pearl of precum squeezed from the red tip.

‘ _Why him?_ ’

———

**Author's Note:**

> I've written a neat little pile of these short one shots, I never thought about sharing them on here but I figured, why not, it's 4 am and I still can't sleep. Depending on people's reception, I may add on to this piece. I hope you enjoy it.


End file.
